This is Monsters, This is Magic
by Beserked2
Summary: Where magic and science intersect and villains never really die. Rated 'M' for violence/coarse language.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: The Skinny**

[A/N: I've fallen in love with the MCU and developed a soft spot for Hawkeye. Harry Potter is an enduring favourite. So there's this.

This story is set in the present: for this to work, push the Harry Potter timeline forward ten years. Events in this story take place two years after the Avengers film and six years after Deathly Hallows.

Ignore the dates if you like; they're just there for me to keep track of stuff.]

Disclaimer: Anything publicly recognisable is the property of Rowling and Marvel.

* * *

><p>2207/14

Five years after Tom Riddle's death and Harry Potter was _still _running for his life.

"I thought I'd grown out of this shit," he panted, ducking behind a (conveniently placed) SUV. Laughter, low and breathless sounded out beneath the steady rattle of gunfire.

"You're in the wrong business then, idiot."

"Shove off, Malfoy." Any trace of laughter had vanished from Ron's sweat-soaked face and Harry held back a sigh. While he hadn't quite mastered the ability to 'just ignore it' like Hermione had always said, Ron _always _rose to the occasion and they were _taking fire for fucks sake_.

"_I'm sorry_, was I talking to you?" How Malfoy managed to sound so goddamn condescending when glass and debris was raining down upon them, Harry would never know. He eyed an overturned dumpster further up while Ron and Malfoy bickered in the background, firing curses at their attackers as often as they spat insults at one another.

"I'm making a run for the dumpster-"

"Just apparate-!"

"Your funeral, Potter-"

"There are only three gunmen left but we can't get a clear shot! I need them to see me running for it. I'll draw their focus and expose their blind spot. Once we're clear I'll give the signal and we'll apparate behind them. Malfoy, you take the one on the right, Ron, you've got the big bloke in the centre. Cover me."

He waited for a lull in the shooting before firing a volley of curses over the bonnet of the SUV at random. The second Malfoy and Ron took over everything turned to white noise and he was off, propelling himself forward as fast as his feet would allow. It was only once he was clear of the SUV that he realized just how far away the dumpster was. Bullets blasted away the bike racks to his left and peppered the concrete beneath his feet. Harry wasn't even sure he was breathing but he _must _have been because it took him an age to reach cover and no one could hold their breath that bloody long. Something hot and burning sliced into his side and he lunged (or flew?) the last few feet, bouncing raggedly along the ground. He took a beat to steel himself against the burning in his side before he was stumbling to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath when he twisted his abdomen. Absolutely refusing to look down, Harry broke cover to get his bearings.

The underground parking garage lay in tatters around the three gunmen, slowly stalking their way forward. They flocked to the centre and shot systematically across the southern end of the garage where he and the others had taken refuge. The sterile white light of the overheads left no room for shadow and for the first time that day, Harry's confidence was boosted.

He gave the signal.

It was a _good _plan. A simple one: draw fire toward concentrated point creating a blind spot, apparate into said blind spot and neutralize the bad guy. It took all of fifteen seconds.

It only took eleven seconds for the plan to turn to shit.

The gunmen writhed in their magically bound ropes, their legs scrabbling furiously at the ground trying to find escape. It didn't take long for them to realize there was none and the determination in their eyes turned into something else, something darker. In the second it took Harry to lower his wand and take a half-step forward the bound men were writhing for a completely different reason. He slashed at the ropes of the closest prisoner and fell to his knees beside him but the man had already begun frothing at the mouth.

Harry grabbed at the man's jacket and heaved him forward – for what, he wasn't sure. Somewhere in the background he could hear Malfoy and Ron shouting at him, at each other – at everything. The gurgles of his prisoner's last words were barely above a whisper, lost in the toxic foam bubbling from his lips.

"H-H… ay… H-H…"

* * *

><p>Harry had always liked the light in Ivanka Abernathy's office. It didn't matter what time of the day it was, the light in this office was always on the warmer side of sunset – bright enough that there was no need for candles, but soft enough that it didn't hurt the eyes even after long periods of exposure. It was one of the perks of being the Head Auror, Harry supposed, being able to choose what type of whether your windows let in.<p>

He followed a swirl of dust motes up from the plush cream carpet to the spindly mahogany desk where his gaze lingered. It was an antique – Harry wasn't sure how he knew this, but the fact was there, floating around like flecks of dust in his head. Maybe he'd get one like it, if he ever managed to become Department Head. It was a bit feminine, but he could butch it up a bit-

"Have you quite finished?"

Harry heaved a weary sigh, unable to postpone the inevitable any longer. He lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of his _fuming _boss. Unlike his own bright green ones hers were a darker emerald, the golden flecks in them caught the light and they seemed to literally sparkle with her anger. Ivanka Abernathy was a formidable woman at the best of times; as meticulous and sharp as she was beautiful – and the woman sitting across from him was _stunning _even in (near) middle age. So, it made sense that she would _know_ what he knew and it was that knowledge that made looking at Abernathy, _talking _to her, so difficult.

"You screwed up, Potter."

"I did."

"Raymond Cervone got away. There was nothing in that building that was of any use and the only people that could have given us _any _information are dead."

He would take the dressing down in silence, with humility because honestly, he deserved worse.

Abernathy stared at him for a long moment before she got stuck into him again. "Those Muggles died as a direct result of your actions. It was _your _team that carried out _your _plan on a mission that _you _were put in charge of."

He simultaneously loved and loathed her, her honesty. He didn't deserve to be reassured; wasn't worthy of the excuses Ron or Ginny would make for him but he flinched at Abernathy's words nevertheless _because _they were true and the realization that he was responsible for three more dead threatened to make him sick.

"Don't throw up on the carpet, no one's 'evanesco' is that good," said Abernathy, plunking a metal wastepaper bin on the desk in front of him. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, the sick in the back of Harry's throat slowly ebbing back down.

"Take heart in the knowledge that this mess isn't entirely your fault."

It was as close to comforting as Abernathy ever got. If he were in a lighter mood he would have savoured the moment.

"No really, Potter. I need you on your feet. Three dead Muggles in the service of a _wizard _was unforgivable even before Tom Riddle. Three dead Muggles now, in _these _times is unforgettable." Harry's back stiffened at her words and hope rose in his chest.

"You're keeping me on the case?" It wasn't a chance at redemption and he knew he wasn't forgiven but he needed closure. He needed to know what type of man inspired such devotion in his followers that they would rather kill themselves than surrender. Not even Riddle had managed that.

"I'm giving you a chance to clean up your mess."

"I won't let you down," said Harry, nodding profusely. Abernathy raised one perfectly manicured brow in surprise but there wasn't enough pride in him to feel abashed at his eagerness.

To her credit (and his relief) she didn't dwell on it and instead slapped a manila folder onto the desk in front of him. "While you were letting Cervone get away, I had Keriggan put together an information packet on him."

Harry reached for the file and eyed Cervone's (admittedly impressive) set of credentials. He had gained nine 'Outstanding' NEWTs from Beauxbeatons at the tender age of fourteen before becoming a Caltech and MIT graduate with PhD's in Experimental Physics, Electrical Engineering and strangely enough, Astrophysics.

"Most wizards don't even bother with their A-levels," Harry said, flipping to a grainy still of Cervone taken from a Muggle security camera.

"Most wizards are idiots," Abernathy said crisply. "There's nothing in there that I'm not about to tell you. It's mostly for Granger and-"

"_Hermione_?"

"No, Gregory."

"Oh," said Harry a little meekly.

Abernathy however looked thoroughly unimpressed. "There are no bloody Gregory Granger's working in this Ministry. I was being sarcastic, Potter, for goodness sake."

A knock at the door (thankfully) relieved him of her pitying gaze.

"But why is Hermione being read in? She's not an Auror," Harry persisted.

"_Granger_?" Malfoy's voice sounded from the doorway. "You're bringing Granger in on this?"

The corners of Abernathy's mouth tightened but she waited until Malfoy had sat himself down in the chair next to Harry, before she ripped into them.

"You look like shit," Harry commented before she could even open her mouth. It was obvious that like him, Malfoy had just come from his debriefing, he was still wearing his robes, torn from glass and stray debris and his face was still covered in dirt and dried blood.

"Piss off, Potter," Malfoy replied acidly. He reached for the waste bin still on Abernathy's desk before flipping it upside down and plopping it on the ground to rest his injured leg upon it.

"Go to hell, M-"

"Enough. We have seventeen minutes before I need you out of my office."

"So you can bring Granger in? What do you need her for?"

"You were sent to apprehend Raymond Cervone earlier this morning for the killing of a Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon on the Romanian Dragon Preserve. We believe Cervone is in possession of the dragon's six missing eggs," said Abernathy, sliding a succession of photographs across the desk's polished surface towards them.

"The Burkina Faso Ministry of Magic has just sent over the files on the Runespoor Forest burnings. Our own Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures took these photos last week when Hagrid reported the missing Acrumantula clusters in the Forbidden Forest and these were taken at the site of several empty giant dwellings." Photographs of a familiar forest, mountainous landscapes and raging fires accompanied a singular capture of a dead dragon and in each frame a ten foot circle filled with intricate symbols had been burned into the ground.

"Reminds me a bit of the Dark Mark," said Harry, absently tracing the scorched insignia with his fingertips. Beside him, Malfoy flinched.

"Cervone's claim to the attacks," confirmed Abernathy, nodding in agreement.

"What do the symbols mean?"

"We're not sure. I've had Keriggan working on decoding them since the first attack about a month ago but he's had no luck so far."

"So what, you think Cervone's _collecting _these creatures?" Malfoy asked.

"In a manner of speaking," said Abernathy, leaning back in her chair to gaze at them levelly. "Cervone now possesses three different Magical Creatures above a XXXX Classification, not including the two missing giants. We have no idea where he's hidden them or what his plans for them are. In this type of situation we _absolutely _have to consider the possibility that he plans to release the creatures or use them to make an attack at some point, but we don't know where and we don't know when or for what purpose. There is no possible way we could hope to contain the situation without any of these parameters. As such, Cervone poses a direct threat to the International Statute of Secrecy."

"That would give him Undesirable Status," Malfoy observed, shrewdly.

"As of 5:45 this evening, Raymond Cervone has become Undesirable Number One."

Images of a time long passed floated through Harry's mind and he couldn't help the slight wince at the label. "We need to get a handle on this before Cervone gets his hands on too many more creatures," he said, looking to Abernathy for direction. It was obvious she had a plan. He assumed it was why she was bringing Hermione in.

"Do you have to bring Granger in?" said Malfoy in a voice that was dangerously close to whining but not even Malfoy was stupid enough to _whinge _outright in front of Abernathy.

"Do you have a working knowledge of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" she asked, her hard gaze settling upon Malfoy.

"No."

"Do you currently work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"No."

"Do you know of anyone else who has had in-field experience, worked in both these departments _and_ hasthe necessary NEWT qualifications of an Auror?"

"Elliot Pry," Malfoy replied, with an arrogant lift of his chin and a self-satisfied smirk. Harry blinked at him in surprise and if it had been anyone, _literally anyone else_, he wouldn't have fought the smile creeping onto his face at Malfoy's cheek. As it was, he kept his expression blank but he could've sworn he saw the corner of Abernathy's mouth twitch.

"Raymond Cervone is Undesirable Number _One, _Mr Malfoy. I need more than your one team investigating him. Miss Granger will be working with you and Mr Potter. Elliott Pry will be working as a part Mr Weasley's team."

Malfoy looked to be choking on his words, caught between incredulous outrage and genuine _glee. _Harry however wasn't so torn. Abernathy's gaze turned on him and before he could open his mouth to protest her decision she countered his argument.

"This is hardly the first time I've separated the two of you."

"But we work better together," Harry reasoned.

"I need four _effective _teams on this, Potter. Weasley is needed elsewhere."

"We-"

She shot him a sharp look. "Weasley _needs _this. He cannot grow in your shadow."

It was exactly the thing that had driven Ron away from him more times than he cared to count back in their Hogwarts years and Harry had _honestly _tried not to overshadow Ron in their work but apparently he wasn't trying hard enough.

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "What about Malfoy?"

"What about him?"

"You said you've got four teams working on this. I've been working with him on _every single _bloody assignment for the past three years. Shouldn't someone else… get a turn?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"A transfer?" Malfoy suggested, equally as hopeful.

"Both you and Granger are too virtuous for your own good. You need someone on your team who can lie convincingly. You need someone who understands the politics of criminals, Potter. While Malfoy isn't the best at either of these things, he is better at it than you."

"Naidu-"

"-is working on another team."

"Can't I swap Malfoy for Naidu?"

"No one else will work with Malfoy and as it was you who supported his request for five years community service as opposed to five years in Azkaban, it is _you _who is stuck with him, Potter." Her lips pressed together firmly and the unspoken 'that is final' rang loud and clear.

Apparently though, Malfoy didn't quite get the message. "I'm injured," he declared, "I need to be taken off of rotation." It was such a typically _Malfoy _thing to say that Harry scoffed in derision.

"You still have fifteen months of community service left to serve Mr Malfoy. Until then, you don't get extra time off."

"Put me on desk duty then. I'm injured. I can't walk properly; I can't be in the field."

"You fractured your ankle, Mr Malfoy. The ankle brace and Skele-Sew the Mediwizards gave you will have your 'injury' healed within the hour."

"Look, Abernathy, I can't-"

"No."

"You-"

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

Malfoy drew in a sharp breath and Harry watched with equal parts amusement and irritation as Malfoy's nostrils flared and his eyes turned glassy.

"_What then_, would you have me do?" Malfoy hissed, his voice dripping with venom and Harry was glad to see that for the first time in all the years they'd known each other, Malfoy took his defeat with some self-respect.

Abernathy, ever poised, simply cocked her head to the side and regarded him with childlike curiosity. Usually, Malfoy would have stormed from the room by now. Her eyes flashed brightly in the afternoon light and for a fraction of a second Harry thought he saw something akin to _pride _flickering across her expression.

"Both of you need to go and pull yourselves together. You have three hours and then I want you back here and ready to go."

Harry's stomach tightened and he turned his gaze sharply in Abernathy's direction. "Are we making another attempt to arrest Cervone?" It was too soon, they didn't have nearly enough information on the man.

"No. We can't get to him. Cervone's guard detail has tripled since your failed attempt to apprehend him this morning. We need to know what he's planning; the only way to do that with the least amount of Muggle casualties is through his men."

"What's the point? The second any of them see us they'll chomp a suicide pill like those idiots in the parking garage," Malfoy said, his voice no less venomous.

"It is for that exact reason that your objective has changed. Unless it is _absolutely necessary _your team is strictly hands off. Our focus now is to prevent Cervone from obtaining anymore dangerous magical creatures. You are to observe and gather as much information on him-"

"Surveillance?" They asked in unison, each with varying levels of disbelief. Malfoy because there was nothing he loathed more than being bored out of his bloody mind in a confined space with Harry; and Harry because there was nothing _he _loathed more than doing… nothing.

"_Yes, surveillance_. As you can well see we know next to nothing about Cervone," she said, waving to the woefully thin file on her desk. "I want you tailing his men and finding out what his next move is. He runs a tight operation so I suggest you pack heavy. It'll be a while before you can find an in. I want-"

A puff of navy blue smoke from the end of her wand signalled the end of their conversation because before Harry knew it his chair had disappeared and he fell to the floor with a dull 'thud'. Next to him Malfoy swore bloody murder. Abernathy rose gracefully from her own (still fully formed) chair and strode past their sprawling forms to open her office door.

"You have your orders. Miss Granger's temporary transfer request is being approved as we speak. She will meet you back here in three hours and I swear to Merlin if your Mother shows up heretrying to get you out of field duty_ again _Malfoy, I'll make sure you don't come home until Christmas."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Surveillance**

* * *

><p><em>3007/14 – Greenwich_

"_Greenwich_." The word dripped like venom from Malfoy's lips. "I hate Greenwich," he said, staring sullenly out the rain-streaked window.

Much like Harry, he was slumped forward in his seat, the limp lines of his body sketching a picture of fatigue. Like clockwork, every hour he would slip his shoes off and prop his sock clad feet up on the dash. She had a sensitive nose and it irritated Harry. He did it to get a rise out of them – she knew it, Harry knew it and for the first eight hours it had worked. Now though, she couldn't even be bothered with the book propped open on her lap, never mind Malfoy's games. The flashlight held limply in her hand shone a wobbly beam of light on the back of Harry's seat. She couldn't find the energy to lift her fingers and flick the switch off let alone huff at Malfoy with indignation. For the last ten minutes his woollen grey socks drew a fuzzy silhouette against the dim streetlights passing overhead and neither she nor Harry bothered to comment.

They had been on the road eight hours straight; hadn't slept in thirty-six.

Not that she was counting or anything.

The steady click of their indicator flicking on mirrored the van four cars ahead of them.

"We've been in this car too long," Malfoy drawled a minute later, drawing both Harry and Hermione's attention.

Abernathy had assigned them this detail a week ago. Tailing a pair of Cervone's men hadn't been what any of them (Abernathy included) had expected. Neither of their targets were wizards (from what they could tell) and so losing track of them wasn't as big of an issue as it would've been were Cervone's men able to apparate. They travelled like seasoned mercenaries though and following them without being noticed was something else entirely.

They had stolen at least six vehicles, cut their stores of Polyjuice Potion nearly in half and Harry's invisibility cloak hadn't seen this much action since their Hogwarts days.

"They only gassed up an hour ago," said Harry. "We can't change cars if they don't stop."

"You put an EPS on-"

"GPS," The correction was automatic, slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

"You put one in their boot didn't you?"

"I'm not a bloody spy Malfoy. I bought that at a shop. If we stop to change cars they'll get too far away from us and the tracker will be useless," Harry growled.

"Turn down this street coming up, Harry." If Hermione didn't interrupt them now, the (almost easy) back and forth they had going now would quickly escalate into a full out argument that would never end.

"Are you deaf? We can't stop," Malfoy sneered even as she felt the car slow, curving into an easy right turn.

Usually they waited until Cervone's men made stops (for gas, toilet breaks or food) to magically alter their own car. Changing the shape of the roof and bonnet, the licence plates and colour of the car had been enough to avoid suspicion – so far, at least.

"It's dark now. If you turn down an empty street I'll lean out the window and do the alterations. We won't have to stop if there's no traffic," Hermione countered, snapping her belt off before shoving her books into the bag at her side.

The second the window rolled down, cool wind lashed at her face, shocking her system into action. Stinging tears blurred her vision and for all the air flooding into the darkened backseat she struggled to find her breath. She leaned precariously out the open window, nausea rocking through her stomach when her centre of gravity shifted.

She was so focused on her spell work that her left hand slipped on the window frame, slick with rain. Her wand arm wavered in the wind and for one horrifying moment she _dropped_. The lip of the door slammed into her torso sending vomit burning up the back of her throat and pain shooting through abdomen.

Hands clamped down on her ankles, securing her a little too late for comfort. The streetlamps overhead flicked past her watery eyes faster as the car sped up. She sucked in a steadying breath, waving her wand feebly at the door she was draped over.

Beneath her fingertips glossy white paint absorbed navy blue. She heaved herself back up into the car, Malfoy's hands disappearing from her ankles as she tumbled into the backseat, bum first, gulping in enough air to find her voice.

"I was hanging half out the window of a _moving car _and you _speed up_?" She screeched, swaying as the car made a series of sharp turns. Wisps of hair escaped from her braid flew into her mouth, the wind whistling in her ears so loudly she couldn't hear what Harry was shouting.

One hand clutched at her aching stomach and the other slapped blindly for the window switch.

"-where are they turning off-"

"Left-"

"_Which left?_"

"Second-"

"What?!" She breathed once the disorientation cleared and the window had sealed shut. Vomit welled up once more, the vile liquid finally breaching her gag reflex. Her cheeks burned and her stomach _hurt _as she heaved, splattering the floor of the backseat with sick.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. They turned down another street, we were losing them," Harry explained, punching the accelerator and turning violently into a line of traffic. Several car horns sounded, the light changed and somewhere in the distance heavy bass thumped rhythmically.

For the first time in a week they found themselves in an actual city with taxi stands, restaurants and bus stops to boot. Dark alleyways separated the tall buildings lining the road and down one of the side streets she spied the bright artificial blue of shop lights.

They followed Cervone's men down a maze of side streets and intersections (sometimes with the GPS other times by sight) until the surrounding buildings became subdued, offices and businesses as opposed to shops and eateries.

"Alright?" Harry asked, glancing up into the rear-view to peer at her with concern.

"We're in a white car," Malfoy interjected, eyeing the illuminated bonnet with distaste.

"It's different," Hermione huffed, evaporating her vomit with a silent 'evanesco'.

"It's obvious," he drawled.

"It's _different_."

"I-"

"They're slowing down," Harry cut in. Hermione's head snapped up and with a wince she leaned between the two front seats to watch as the brake lights of the van (eight cars ahead now) burned bright. "We can't stop," he whispered, slowing the car down as far as he dared.

The van's indicator's flashed on.

They watched with a sense of dread as it slid toward a private parking space in front of a brick building.

"Take the Invisibility Cloak," Harry instructed, snapping into action. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and pulled the cloak from his pocket with the other, tossing it in Malfoy's direction. "Hop out when we pass the third lamp post. I'll slow the car down as much as I can, but I can't stop it completely." There was uncertainty in both his and Hermione's gaze as they watched Malfoy tug his backpack on before disappearing beneath the cloak.

Malfoy, for all that he understood what being a part of Harry's team meant, hated field work; hated risking his hide in the service of something that didn't directly benefit him. Sending him out alone, on foot in pursuit of 'the bad guys' didn't sit right on either Harry's or Hermione's conscience.

"Jump out on three."

He jumped out on two.

"Git," Harry growled at the empty front seat. "We'll hop out at the bus stop coming up," he added to her.

"We'll get a ticket – or worse, towed."

"We might have to borrow another car." Beneath the heavy set of his brows he glanced furtively in her direction.

"_Borrow_?" She asked shrewdly. "You've become a criminal while I wasn't looking, Harry Potter."

"I swear it's not usually like this, Hermione. This is the first time we've dealt with a wizard who operates like a Muggle."

Which, she could understand. Auror's policed dark wizards; policemen took care of Muggle criminals. So rarely did the two intersect that the protocols were practically nonexistent.

"It's rather clever actually," she said, reaching for the door handle as Harry pulled over. "Most wizards – even those in the Auror department – are so _ignorant _when it comes to Muggles."

"You think it's a tactical decision then? Having Muggle henchmen?" Harry asked once they hit the pavement. Her sneakers became a pale blur against the night, splashing through puddles as fast as her legs would allow. The messenger bag flapped wildly at her back, just as hard as her own, laboured breathing.

Running at full sprint _and _talking wasn't as easy as movies made it out to be.

"I think that our team has two wizards who grew up in Muggle society and even we're finding it difficult to keep Cervone's men under surveillance _without them knowing_," she panted. Her chest began to tighten and _oh God _the building Cervone's men had parked in front of was still _so far away_.

Between the sound of her heavy breathing and the whistling of cars zooming past, Hermione could barely hear Harry's muted "This is the first time I've been grateful that Ron isn't on my team."

"Keriggan said Ron's target made them on the second day," Hermione wheezed because she really did understand. Ron was just as useless in the Muggle world as Malfoy.

"How do you-?" Harry asked but the galleons in their pockets burned hot. They came to a grinding halt, both of them digging through their pockets for the coin. It was a borrowed trick from Dumbledore's Army that had carried through (unofficially) to the Auror Department and Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't at least _a little _proud of herself.

1 12 12 5 25

It was a simple code, every number corresponding to a letter in the alphabet because no, they were not spies and anything more complex would take too long to work out on the go.

"He's in the alley," Hermione breathed. They took off at a sprint and honestly, Hermione was just glad she could keep up with Harry. She wasn't an Auror, chasing after criminals wasn't something she did every other day.

They came upon a wide alleyway next to the building, dappled in the dim yellow of the streetlights above. Shadows loomed large and ominous down the entire right side where stacks of empty pallets and overstuffed garbage bags had crowded, haphazardly. They made their way slowly down the alley until a solid green gate loomed ahead and one pale hand flipped them off.

"They've gone inside," Malfoy drawled, his voice barely audible above the loud hum of an exposed air conditioner.

Harry and Hermione inched forward, pressing themselves to the slit in the gate Malfoy held open. A loading dock lined the far end of the alleyway with the roller door pulled shut. A wall of high windows on the right spilled light out into the blocked off alley, barely illuminating the skip pushed up against the opposite wall and the large circle full of symbols burned into the ground.

The scar – Cervone's 'Brand' Abernathy had called it – stretched out over the entire expanse of the ground, larger than any she'd seen. In a full circle it caught the bottom half of the ramp leading up to the loading bay, disappeared beneath the skip and looped up barely a foot away from the gate they were pressed up against.

They ended up squashed into the tiny space between the skip and the elevated landing of the loading bay. They squatted low enough that the cloak covered all but one of their six ankles – a disillusionment charm and shadow making up the difference.

"Brilliant idea, Potter," Malfoy hissed. They were pressed so close together that Hermione felt the brush of his words against her own cheeks, even with Harry jammed between her and Malfoy.

"Got a better one?"

"Waiting in the car, for one," Malfoy snapped, grabbing for the Extendable Ear Hermione handed him.

The flesh coloured string rolled toward a window opposite them and Hermione pulled the other end to her ear, waiting for the indistinct murmurs to become clear. Wet brick dug into her back and she tried not to think too hard about the fact that her right side was pushed up against a dumpster dripping foul smelling water down the side of her neck.

The muffled argument cleared the instant the Extendable Ear touched the frosted glass of the nearest window.

"-a _sterile area _you tit!"

"-if you just order more pipettes I wouldn't-"

"-not my bloody department-"

"-but I can't do anything-"

"-Royer, you rotate out in two days-"

"I _need _more equipment!"

"Fine!" a woman's voice yelled so loudly into the extendable ears that all three of them jumped.

"Might want to get some air freshener too," a voice Hermione recognised as John Folger's, muttered. They'd been following Cervone's men long enough that the sound of the man's voice was almost familiar.

"What?" The woman replied, distracted and irritable. Somewhere in the background a nail gun thwacked steadily.

"_Air freshener_," Don Coble (another of Cervone's men) sighed.

"Three days I've had the stench of decay hanging around my lab and not once did I think of air freshener." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable of the woman's voice and the 'thwacking' became more pointed.

"The crate's half filled with soil," the man the woman had been arguing with – Royer – said and the 'thwacking' grew louder. "You'll need to put another bag in, in the morning though and at least three daily after that."

"That much?"

"_At least_," the woman replied and the nail gun stopped. "Or they'll eat through the crate and whatever else they can find."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she looked to the others when it clicked into place: the smell of decay, the soil, the need to _feed _on anything and everything. "There's Bundimun in the crate."

"What?" They whispered, both with blank expressions.

"It's a type of fungus." Hermione whispered with a roll of her eyes. "Honestly."

"You got the short end of the stick lads," said Royer in the same moment.

"How so?"

"I hear they've got eyes on a Chimaera."

There was a moment's pause where Hermione looked to the others with a weary expression. Chimaera were XXXXX Class creatures; more volatile than Acromantula and even rarer than dragons.

"Where did you hear that?" It was the woman who responded, this time, trepidation in her tone.

"I have my sources," said Royer waspishly. "Bet you wish you pulled a better detail now, huh?"

"We go where we're needed," Coble replied, the barest hint of irritation finding its way into his rumbling baritone.

"We'll see what you say after a few days with this," Royer replied, the dull 'thud' of a foot kicking wood floated through the window.

"We have our orders," Coble stated with a note of finality.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation because a metal cranking assaulted their ears a moment before the roller door shuddered overhead. As one they yanked at the extendable ears, watching them roll back to them as if in slow motion.

The bright glare of artificial light spilled out into the alley, reflected off a growing puddle not thirty centimetres from the tips of their sneakers. The others were pressed up so closely beside her that she felt the exact moment their bodies stopped shivering and tensed instead.

Boots slapped loudly on the loading bay above, the conversation only an indistinct murmur now. Hermione zeroed in on the peeling sound of wheels rolling along wet concrete, tracking it until she spied Cervone's men pushing a large crate down the ramp directly ahead.

"I need the jack back! You lot keep taking them to the other side and never bring them back," the woman called, the sound of her voice echoing loudly off the wet walls.

To Hermione's horror the men wheeled the crate to the very centre of the scar burned into the ground – less than five feet from where they were hiding. So close that she could make out the sombre expressions on their faces right before the roller door slid shut and bathed the alley in relative darkness.

"Royer's got a mouth on him," Folger – the shorter of the two men observed, turning in the direction of the closed door.

"It's going to be a problem."

"How did he know about the Chimaera?"

Coble looked to the loading bay a moment longer before reaching into his breast pocket. "We leave for Kinshasa tomorrow. We'll find out then." The box in his hand flashed red. "Thirty seconds."

"Can't be anyone on the ground though or he'd know I was part of the transfer detail."

Hermione's heart picked a beat at the revelation and then _raced _when the pale glow of Harry's cell phone lit up their dark little corner.

She and Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath as one, her gaze darting nervously between the bright glow and Cervone's men. The sound of her own racing heart drowned out the next chunk of the conversation but Hermione couldn't find herself caring less.

Harry however ignored all of it and instead worked his thumbs across the illuminated screen.

_Following lead on Chimaera. _

_Tracked Bundimun exchange to 396 Dene Rd, Greenwich. _

Her anger dissipated somewhat at the message, sent to Abernathy, but it still made her stomach swoop to see a beacon of light not five feet away from a pair of armed henchmen they were _supposed to be hiding from._

"Locals like to talk," Folger commented after a moment's contemplation – almost as if in afterthought.

"Yeboah almost as much as you," Coble replied wryly.

"You like him for the gossip?"

"Hired guns can't be trusted."

"Think we should let the boss know?"

"I'll take care of it."

"If there's a leak and this comes back to bite us-"

The red light in Coble's hands began to beep ominously in the darkness.

"Three seconds."

A sense of foreboding stole over them; Harry's wand raising the same instant Hermione lifted hers. Henchmen counting down never lead to anything good.

Her breathing hitched when an invisible hook yanked at her navel, the pulling sensation sending a swooping through her gut. The scar full of symbols lit up the night sky, a brilliant rainbow of colours pulsing through the bright light. The edge of the scar caught at their heels, seeming to engulf them in its warmth. The light around them burned brighter and for one fleeting moment Hermione felt _weightless_.

It lasted all of five seconds and she felt rather than saw herself floating gracefully down to solid ground, her feet glued to the cobbles as if they'd never left at all. The lights quickly faded until all that was left were the burning embers of the scar beneath their feet.

Her vision cleared enough that she could make out Cervone's men silhouetted against the _same _wall of windows.

"Took a bit longer than usual," Folger murmured.

"Heavy cargo," Coble replied, pumping the pallet jack a few times. "Get the gate."

Hermione's gaze stayed fixed on the men making their way out of the alleyway, waiting until the sounds of their footfalls had faded before she turned to look at the others.

"I'll go," Harry whispered, rising to his feet and pulling the cloak with him. The sudden influx of fresh, _cold _air brought a shiver down her spine.

"What was that?" Malfoy demanded, inflecting such authority into his tone Hermione took a moment to marvel at how he managed it on a whisper.

Looking down, she ran the fingertips of her left hand along the wet cobbles, tracing along the thick border of the charred scar – nothing but a dark mark upon the ground now. It wasn't warm as a Portkey was after use and the symbols decorating the ground hadn't changed to her eyes. While the lights that had burst from the scar were like nothing she'd seen, the _sensation _of being pulled through air – through space – were eerily similar to using a Portkey.

"I'm not sure." The words tasted like vinegar, slipping from her lips.

"Then what good are you?"

Her gaze snapped up to glare at his disillusioned form, distantly aware that no, he could not feel the heat of it, disillusioned as she was.

"The scar itself _could _have acted as a Portkey. It felt like a Portkey." It was an observation made aloud but Malfoy's audible sigh had her adding "I know we're in the exact same place as we were before the scar lit up." She wasn't the idiot he obviously thought her to be.

"_Specialis Revelio,_" she whispered, waving her wand gingerly over the ground, scowling when nothing was revealed.

She cast her spells with increasing frustration each time they came back void of any useful information – or _any _information at all. Desperation grew with every passing second, she and Malfoy both _waiting _for a signal from Harry.

She paused in her rapid spell fire to steal a cursory glance around the (now empty) alley. Royer and the woman were still inside and movement negated any advantages the disillusionment charm afforded them. It wasn't an entirely comfortable position to be in.

"I've got watch," Malfoy drawled blandly. "Just do the diagnostic."

It wasn't until her wand started moving again and she whispered "_Prior Incantato_," that she felt the weight of Malfoy's gaze leave her.

It took far longer than she expected for the galleon in her jeans to burn hotly. They'd been left in the dark so much longer than was normal that when it did burn she was on her feet before she'd even fished it out of her pocket.

_7 15_

"_Go,_" she hissed at Malfoy, making a beeline for the gate. The alleyway beyond was blissfully empty, the overstuffed garbage bags and empty pallets less ominous looking than they'd seemed, stacked neatly along the brick wall. She had enough presence of mind to linger in the shadow instead of bursting out onto the (now quiet) main street. Hearing Malfoy stop close behind her, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, scanning the street with beady eyes. There was no sign of Harry, Cervone's men or their van, just a shady looking chav smoking across the road and a busker giving an elderly woman direction, further down. Dogs barking echoed loudly in the otherwise empty street.

"There," Malfoy breathed, looping his arm through hers and towing her closer to his side.

"Where?"

"_Duck and run_," he hissed in her ear, barely giving her enough time to register his words before he was towing her along at an awkward sprint, towards an idle _Chariot _parked fifty metres away. They scrambled through the barely open back door, Malfoy stumbling in so closely behind her that she ended up kicking him in the stomach. The barking she'd heard earlier increased in both volume and frequency and she realized, in a daze, it was coming from a pair of golden retrievers scuttling around in the boot of the car they'd just hidden in.

"It's _Harry,_" Hermione whispered as realization dawned. Once she'd crept far enough into the backseat that the both of them had all of their limbs in the car she popped her head up a fraction to spy Harry (Polyjuiced as the elderly woman) across the road. The chav and the busker were _guarding the street_.

"_Shut up_," Malfoy growled, pulling his wand from the floor to train it on the door they'd just clambered through – still slightly ajar.

"I can't believe it," she whispered in mortified outrage. _Malfoy_ had figured it out within seconds of getting eyes on the street.

Not a minute later Harry was striding around to the open back door and tossing a map into the backseat before pulling it closed and hobbling into the driver's seat.

They drove in silence, Hermione stewing, Malfoy agitated, and Harry contemplative, until the shop lights faded and the streetlamps dwindled.

"Clear," Harry called and in the next moment the car was a flurry of activity. Malfoy banished the dogs the second Harry opened his mouth; Hermione lifted their disillusionment charms in the same instant and there was a mad – if somewhat _awkward _scuffle to heave themselves off the floor.

"Dogs," Malfoy spat.

"I thought it was clever actually. It distracted the guards, at least," said Hermione; positively beaming in Harry's direction.

"Information you could have shared beforehand," Malfoy observed shrewdly.

"I didn't have time-"

"It doesn't _matter_," Hermione sighed. Honestly, she'd had enough bickering to last a lifetime. "Where did they come from?"

The guard hadn't been there when they'd ran into the alley and if they'd been made then they wouldn't have seen as much as they did – nor would they had left the alley of their own accord.

"I don't know. They were there when I left the alley," Harry growled in agitation. "I had to ditch Coble and Folger to pick up the car and transfigure the dog-"

"You lost them?" Malfoy asked, indignant.

"I couldn't bloody well leave you in the alley."

Which was a fair comment, considering. They couldn't have disapparated without the guards hearing and if they wanted to keep the building under surveillance then no one in Cervone's operation could know they were there.

"What about the GPS?"

"It's got no signal. Neither does my phone."

As one, she and Malfoy rooted around in their bags for their own phones.

"The light show back in the alley probably knocked them out," said Harry, glancing up into the rear view.

"What's the point of these if they can't handle magic?" Malfoy asked sourly, tossing his phone away.

"They still have power," said Hermione, gingerly plucking his phone up off the seat next to her. "They work just fine," she added, tapping through to his gallery, just to make sure. A photo– half obscured by a fuzzy finger over the camera – of a woman with Malfoy's white-blond hair sat on an elegant chaise, both legs curved under her, staring down at a heavy tome in her lap. The smallest of smiles softened her sallow face -

The phone was promptly snatched from her fingers.

"The phones just… have no network connection. Magic, when it permeates the air or concentrated volumes – like it did back in the alley – usually renders electronic devices _completely_ useless."

"The scar in the ground lighting up, that wasn't magic then?" Harry asked.

"Granger couldn't find any traces of it," Malfoy replied coolly, completely ignoring the fact that Hermione had just caught a glimpse of something private.

"That, ah," she blinked owlishly at him for a moment before shaking her head to clear it. "That doesn't mean what happened in the alley wasn't born of magic."

"But you don't know what kind," Malfoy added and even in the dark she could see that in place of a smirk he wore a frown – a testament to the seriousness of their situation; of the assignment.

"No," Hermione conceded bitterly.

"Not even Keriggan could figure out what the scars at the other sites were," Harry offered.

"Which is why he assumed it was a brand."

"We all did."

"Until now there was no evidence to suggest otherwise," Hermione reasoned. "We don't even know _what _it did."

"Add it to the list of things we don't know," Harry grunted irritably, flicking on the indicator and taking the onramp to the motorway.

"Where are we going?"

"Heathrow."

"Why?"

"Coble's going to see a hired gun-"

"Yeboah."

"Right, and from what Folger said when they were loading the Bundimun into their van, Yeboah runs his business out of the Kwilu pub in Kinshasa."

"Kinshasa's still a pretty big city, Harry," said Hermione with more than a little trepidation.

"It's the only lead we have on the Chimaera."

"Piss poor lead if you ask me."

"Nobody was asking you."

"Piss off, Potter." It was a tired retort, worn out so long ago that even Harry had stopped pointing it out.

She couldn't help but agree with Malfoy though and she had a sneaking suspicion that Harry did too.

"It's all we have to go on," Hermione said into the quiet because Harry needed support and Malfoy would never admit the words aloud, even if he knew they were true.

**Barton**

_Toronto, Canada_

Late afternoon found Clint Barton sprawled across a worn two-seater in a non-descript hotel room with his legs hanging limply over the armrest. The smell of leather, damp nylon and dirty socks wafted up his nostrils from the open duffel resting atop his chest but he really couldn't give less of a shit. The coming nightfall had drained all warmth from the room and the heavy, slightly damp bag provided protection from the cold.

"Fourteen minutes," he croaked when his ass started buzzing. Barely enough time to hit the head let alone find sleep.

"Barton," he grunted.

"Selvig's tech's picked up gravimetric anomalies in London." Natasha never did bother with pleasantries.

"What are you doing?" He asked tiredly.

Thor was in London.

"Making conversation."

"Why?"

"It's what people do."

He hung up the phone without another word because he was too goddamn tired for _conversation_. It didn't stop him from answering when it buzzed a second time.

He wasn't that stupid.

"That was rude," said Natasha mildly. "Selvig's reporting similar activity in New York."

"Always New York," he sighed, looping the strap of his duffel over his shoulder before hauling himself into a sitting position. There was a reason she was calling _him _after all.

"Larger population condensed to smaller area," she rattled off in a flat, almost disinterested tone, "higher chances of favourable outcomes. Significant property damage and disruption to civilian life is a less desirable result but still effective. Criminal psychopaths like to make an impression," she added as an afterthought and he could _hear _the shrug in her voice.

He liked to think this was her, making small talk; her own warped attempt at affection. Not her, annoying the shit out of him, just for kicks.

"Banner and Stark are in New York," he said slowly.

"They've been put on alert."

"They need backup?" He asked, digging the heel of his palm into his sockets until the pressure became too much. She liked to make him _ask _for the information. It was a power play he let her indulge in – it didn't matter. Not to him at least.

"There's nothing to report, as far as we can tell."

"So this _is_ just you making conversation."

Which (not that he'd ever admit aloud) was disturbing.

"Sure," she replied flippantly, again with the shrug. "What's the 4-1-1?"

"Sarcasm." His brows knit together and he was on his feet in the next second.

"No, come on, come on," and Oh God, she was using the honeyed tones she saved for marks.

Or Rogers.

"Natasha."

She sighed audibly over the line. "You're on the 11:30 flight to Kinshasa."

His mind threw together possibilities. Selvig the astrophysicist detecting fluctuations on the gravitational fields meant-

"Space portals," he murmured to himself, half wishing someone were around to be impressed that he'd worked it out.

"'Space portals'?" Natasha drawled, mocking and unimpressed all at once. "Wormholes, Barton."

"Long mission," he grunted in explanation, glad now that _no one _was around to witness what he'd worked out.

Still, wormholes had opened before in New York and in New Mexico but-

"The Congo?" He asked, surprised. His movements faltered, paused halfway through lacing up his boots. "Huh."

"Greenwich," she supplied.

Helpfully, as it turned out.

Astrophysical activity in the DRC was no more likely to happen than the universe converging in Greenwich.

And yet.

"Send me the co-ordinates," he requested, making for the exit.

"We can't get a lock. A portal hasn't manifested; the wormhole hasn't connected to this end yet. It's all just… playful fluctuation."

"When does the wormhole in the DRC open?"

"Days."

"Kinshasa is a big city." There was no possible way he could scout the entire city for gravimetric anomalies before the portal opened. He didn't even know what the hell that looked like. He wasn't there for Greenwich.

"This isn't a singular, isolated event, Barton. It's co-ordinated; calculated. You and I have to figure this out on the ground. It'll be fun." Again, he heard her shrug even if genuine warmth (mild as it was) edged its way into her voice.

"You got a lead?"

"No."

"Follow the rats?" He suggested, punching the elevator's call button. Rats, the scrappiest kind of criminal, always had a keen sense of self-preservation. Something this big, rats would be in the know.

"Follow the rats."

"Lay some traps," he couldn't help but add.

The line disconnected.

"I thought it was clever," he muttered.

[A/N: Appreciate the reviews that have already been left, guys – especially since there's been so little story to comment on so far.]


	3. Chapter 3

_[A/N: This chapter was Beta'd by Phelia Joane. She's been incredibly supportive and patient, listening to me rattling on about plot/ideas. Check out her stuff.]_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Sentry<strong>

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><p><em>0208/14 – The Democratic Republic of the Congo_

Finding Yeboah had been surprisingly easy. He wasn't exactly being conspicuous about his work, his arrogance getting the better of him. They tracked him to the Kwilu Pub and listened to Yeboah and his henchmen (through the Extendable Ears) for hours on end until they learned Cervone had cordoned off an entire street for delivery of the Chimaera.

With the sheer amount of men Yeboah had running security on the street, it was the in they'd been looking for. Stunning, binding and then altering the memories of three of Yeboah's men had been the easy part – taking over their sentry shift too, had been relatively easy. The waiting though, is what got them.

Hermione sighed and rocked her weight restlessly from foot to foot. She kept her head on a swivel, her weary eyes scanning the street for anything unusual. It was a tall task, considering. Dappled in pale moonlight, the neglected street they'd taken over was so close to the slums it didn't warrant care or attention. Buildings no taller than three stories high lined the street, most abandoned or in such disrepair the structures crumbled out onto the road itself. Six guards at either end of the street blocked it off, so far away that she could neither hear, nor see them. Sentries stationed themselves outside the four buildings that were inhabited. She had (unluckily) landed watch over the units next to Malfoy's, their doors literally side by side.

Across the road and two buildings down she could make out Harry's form, standing guard over his own building, connected to them only through camouflaged extendable ears. The unfamiliar face of the man he was Polyjuiced as was set in rigid concentration.

With every sweep of the street their gaze lingered on the guards, a further three doors down, standing watch outside the building they suspected Cervone's men were setting up to hold the Chimaera.

She hitched the rifle strap higher on her shoulder, refusing to hold the foul thing in her hands. The teenage boy she was Polyjuiced as was skinnier than she was used to, the strap of the rifle falling down as often as the baggy t-shirt and her now too big pants. Her clothes were already damp with sweat, her skin coated in a fine sheen of it and her bladder was fit to burst. Every hour on the hour they chugged down a healthy dose of Polyjuice Potion, following it with just enough water to wash the foul taste away and keep them hydrated.

"Why would they bring a Chimaera _here_?" She asked because she _had _to get her mind off her bladder.

"The slums aren't far away," explained Harry. "If they let the Chimaera loose it'd kill thousands of Muggles."

"I know that," she growled. "I don't understand _why _they would do something so horrible."

"Don't be thick, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "They do it because _they can_."

"They do it because they're evil gits," Harry muttered.

"Evil is a relative term."

"Killing thousands of Muggles is evil on _every _level, Malfoy."

"According to you and Weasley, Snape was an 'evil git' too," Malfoy taunted, the smirk on the weathered features of the man he was disguised as looking as familiar to Hermione as the scar on Harry's forehead.

Harry lapsed into a sullen silence, Malfoy a smug one. If it were another time, if they could affordto bicker she would have asked Malfoy why he felt the need to do it; to say such awful things. As it was, they were _all _on edge. For seven and a half hours they'd been guarding the street and Hermione wasn't sure how much longer their cover would last. It was easy enough to go undercover and assume the identities of three sentries for Yeboah (a hired gun under Cervone's employ) but their shift would end in less than two hours.

"How long are we going to wait for Cervone's men and the Chimaera to show?" She asked when the silence had settled and her bladder demanded to know when it could relax.

"Morning," Harry decided after a moment's hesitation. "Then we split up and take guard duty in turns."

"For the rest of eternity?" asked Malfoy sarcastically.

"Our shift ends soon," Hermione pointed out, ignoring him.

"I know," Harry sighed. "We'll have to scatter the takeover of the next shift. Stun them one at a time from beneath the Invisibility cloak and then assume their identities."

"Seems like a lot of _unnecessary _fuss."

"Don't start, Malfoy. We're already on assignment; we're not changing the plan now."

"Disillusionment charms were invented for a reason, Potter."

"We're not using the spell."

"Because the Chosen One declares it so?" He sneered.

"If you had done the bloody reading three years ago we wouldn't be having this conversation, or any of the other hundred pointless ones we've had since," Harry growled, his oscillating gaze stopping just long enough to glare in Malfoy's general direction. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," she hissed, squeezing her legs tighter together, willing herself to stop squirming.

"If I had wanted to do the reading then I would have," Malfoy said a moment later because he could _never _let anything go.

"If you had you would know that this is a Class-I-6 assignment."

"I'm not thick, Potter. I know what designation this assignment is."

"Then you know we can't use that kind of magic here."

"Why the hell not?"

"International Statue of Secrecy is Priority One on Class-I-6 assignments," Hermione supplied through clenched teeth. The words had dropped from her lips before she'd given herself permission to say them, jumping out in rhythm to her squirming.

"Hermione's not even an Auror and she's done the reading." She could hear the smile in Harry's voice, even if it was slightly taunting. "The Statute of Secrecy is _the _most important thing in a heavily populated Muggle area like Kinshasa, Malfoy. What do you reckon a Muggle will think if they can't see us and we have to detain Cervone's men and secure the building? Or-"

"Will you _desist_?" Malfoy growled, actually turning his head to glare down at her. She stopped, mid hop so startled that a little wet dribbled out.

"_Just_ _piss already!_"

"It's easy for you to say, you're a _boy_," she replied hotly.

"So are you," Malfoy taunted. "For now, at least."

Hermione pursed her lips and with as much courage as she could muster, lifted her chin and promptly turned on the spot.

"Don't forget to shake."

"You're a real prat, Malfoy," she hissed, refusing to look down.

Relief flooded through her, the moment of release and not Malfoy's running commentary nor Harry's not-so-subtle humming could dull it.

It was as she was sterilizing the area, her body, her hands, _everywhere_, that she turned around with her dignity in tatters and her cheeks a burning scarlet that she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Too far back to be clear, along the rooftops she was sure she caught movement but a moment later a wisp of cloud slid in front of the moon and the light flickered dimmer still. The sweat on Hermione's back seemed to cool in the same instant and something swooped low against her before trickling down her spine. The tip of her wand glowed incandescently in the darkness. A sense of foreboding washed over her and things suddenly felt _very_ real.

"What was that, Granger?" Malfoy asked tightly, lofty taunts forgotten.

"A modified version of the _Homenum Revelio_ charm," she said quietly. The atmosphere thickened and their gaze slid to the building across the street, looming ominously in the dark.

"They're inside," she whispered.

"Damn it!" Harry growled, yanking his rifle down and shaking his wand free from his sleeve.

"Shit!" Malfoy hissed, pulling his wand from his pocket. "Shit, shit, shit."

Hermione's heart beat a furious rhythm because _this wasn't the plan_. She took a moment to squirrel herself away in the tiny alcove of the entrance to the block of units she was guarding. Turning into the wood, she flipped the disposable phone open and fired off a message to Abernathy for back up. They couldn't go into the building blind, just the three of them _without _it. Hastily, she shoved the phone back into her pocket, not expecting a response. When on field duty the Auror Office technically had no contact with their Aurors. Communication was a one way street. It was why most Aurors carried the galleons from Dumbledore's Army. Field work could be awfully lonely.

"You said Cervone's men couldn't Apparate with magical creatures!" Malfoy hissed, when she turned back around.

"They can't! I don't know how they-"

"Portkeys?" Harry interrupted.

"No! No magical creature can travel via Portkey!"

"Says you, yet _somehow they're inside the building!_"

"Floo powder, then?" Harry demanded.

"I – they _could_ but – but a Chimaera's too big and they're not connected to the network. There are only two fireplaces in the entire DRC that have Floo-"

"Well now there are three – some genius you are-"

"_It doesn't matter_," Harry growled, his eyes trained on the two guards standing watch over the door. "They've connected to the network somehow. Hermione, send a message to Abernathy. We're breaching the building – we'll need back up."

"I already have-"

"Are you mad, Potter?!" Malfoy squawked at the same time. "The plan was to arrest Cervone's men in transit – before _they enter the building _and then secure the Chimaera _while it's still caged_! We have no idea what's inside that building!"

Hermione's breathing hitched because he was _right_.

"This was always a possibility, Malfoy. We all knew that. I'll take point, Hermione cover the rear. We won't stun the guards until we're close. I-6 Assignment, remember," said Harry abandoning his post.

"_We should wait for backup,_" Malfoy insisted.

Hermione had already stepped out onto the road, pulling the extendable ear free and scanning the street as she migrated closer to Harry. Silently, he stunned the only other sentry on duty, further down the street and far enough away that the sound of his collapsing form was barely louder than a falling stone.

"Oh for fucks sake," Malfoy grunted, stalking over to them. "You two buffoons are going to get me killed."

"You knew the deal Malfoy," Harry murmured, taking the time to talk it out – for his own sake as much as Malfoy's. "You don't go to Azkaban, you stay in your own house – you even get days off. This is the trade-off. You made this decision. It's not my bloody fault no one else wants you on their service."

Malfoy wasn't so thick that he replied, not when they were so close to the two men that stood guard over their target. With Harry only a pace ahead, Malfoy and Hermione automatically flocked to his sides scanning their surroundings, wands raised, _watching_.

"Que faites-vous?" One of the guards shouted, hitching his rifle higher in the crook of his arm.

"We need to talk," Harry replied, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Get back to your post! Keep watch on the street!" The other guard growled, coming forward.

They were close enough now that when her oscillating scan swept to the left she could see the features of the man's face contort in aggravation.

A glint of reflected light caught the corner of her right eye and her gaze zeroed in on the rooftop of the building she'd been guarding but her eyesight wasn't good enough to make out more than the shadowy mass of rubble piled there.

There were no snipers on duty. This branch of Cervone's organisation wasn't that well equipped. The sight of Harry drawing his wand pulled her attention and the rush of air as Harry and Malfoy shot silent stunning spells blew limply at her thin t-shirt. The burst of light from their wands had barely lasted a second before they hit the guards, their rifles clattering loudly as they toppled to the ground.

"Do you think they heard that inside?" Harry asked, striding forward to pull the rifles away from the stunned guards.

"I'm not about to let you get me killed, Scarhead. I shrouded the door with the _Muffliato_ you so _graciously_ taught me." He whispered.

Hermione banished the guards' rifles before she walked over to join Harry, her wand held aloft even as she continued to scan the street. She would watch the rear right up until the moment they fell through the door and then, well. They'd make something up.

"Whatever you do _don't let them release the Chimaera_," Hermione whispered, retreating into the doorway until her back pressed up against the others.

It took them less than a minute to break through the protective enchantments guarding the door.

"Ready?" Harry asked, tensing.

The second the door cracked open their ears were assaulted by sound of men shouting themselves hoarse and the deafening roars of a furious beast. The cracked concrete beneath her feet was covered in layers filth and grime, tufts of dirt kicking up at their entrance. The second the door closed behind them Hermione sealed it shut and cast a sensory charm on it for good measure.

Powerful roars rocked through the room, pulling dust from the ceiling and shaking plaster from the crumbling walls. The source of it all lunged forcefully against the thick, _bent,_ iron bars of its cage, the seemingly endless links of chains weighing its bull like body down and looping tightly around its enormous feathered wings. The Chimaera's three heads snapped and howled; the lion and goats heads gnashed futilely at the chains while the dragon head roared and spat fire at its captors. Three corpses lay nearest the cage, their burnt remains still sizzling weakly.

She counted seven men running wildly around the cage of the fire breathing beast, shouting spells trying desperately to subdue the creature.

"I hate you, Potter," Malfoy hissed, his furious eyes glinting brightly in the firelight.

"It's not Harry's fault!" Hermione retorted, indignant. Although, to be fair, the Chimaera was _a lot _bigger than any of them had anticipated.

"How the hell are we going to subdue – _and then transport _– that bloody thing?! Three of those idiots died doing it!" Draco roared while Harry shoved them all to the ground. A jet of red light whistled above them before carving a crater into the wall.

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione shouted, firing at the heavy set man, lumbering towards them. The curse tripped him up and his lined face turned slack as he fell to the ground, head first.

The ground beneath them vibrated with the stamping of the Chimaera and the deflected curses of its captors. Flicking her wrist, she transfigured a broken slab of plaster at their feet into a low wall. They scrambled behind it, dropping to their stomachs so the wall would provide cover, lifting their arms above their heads to fire curses in the direction of Cervone's men. It wasn't an ideal position but her transfigured wall wouldn't reach up any higher. Bits of concrete and rock flew up at them from deflected curses, rebounding with such force that tiny chunks of debris embedded themselves in their forearms and sliced thinly across their cheeks.

Volleys of light flew over their heads, some flying so low that they burned as they skimmed past, singing fabric, hair and skin. Hermione lobbed a _Petrificus Totalus _over the wall, petrifying a greying man further back. She winced as his colleague shoved his statuesque form to the side and over a broken table – right into a blast of fire from the dragon head's mouth.

Harry and Malfoy fired spells to her right, their shouts lost in the roars and screams of the men on the other side of the room. The vibrating ground rattled her teeth and the shockwave of a now _furious _stomping Chimaera sent her stunning spell off its mark.

Her target used the reprieve to send a hex that she only just managed to deflect, leaving a gaping hole in the ground before them. A burst of light blasted away a third of their wall, right in front of Harry, forcing them to huddle closer behind a much narrower wall. It was harder to aim pressed up so tightly against Malfoy's sweaty form. One of the men used the distraction to make his way past the line their wall had drawn and levelled his wand at them. Hermione rolled to her side, barely managing to deflect the curse in time, but it was an awkward position. She wasn't on her feet and so had no room to physically dodge his attack. All she could do was deflect his curses, one after the other, with her wand – it left no opening for an offensive.

Malfoy yanked her shoulder down and stupefied her attacker, the jet of light flying so close that it burned away the toe of her right sneaker.

It was as she was about to turn back to the three remaining men on the other side of the room when the sensory charm she put on the door sent alarm bells ringing in her head. The door opened a fraction and drifted closed again only to slam open a second later, four men tumbling through it, one of them with an _arrow _protruding from his chest. She managed to body bind one of them before they had a chance to turn around and spot her.

"_Move!_" Hermione screamed and tugged Malfoy up even as she, herself scrambled to her feet. Firing spells blindly in the direction of the door Hermione pushed a fumbling Malfoy ahead of her. She felt, rather than saw the curse that hit her right leg. The curse sliced its way into her flesh, burrowing in deep and almost blinding her with pain. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she grabbed at Harry's elbow urging him to stop duelling and _hurry up_.

"_Confringo!_" she gasped, blasting a giant hole in the concrete where they had been, coughing on the dust and debris that exploded around them. It provided enough cover for the three of them to sprint for an empty book shelf and an overturned desk.

It wasn't an ideal spot, but it put the two remaining men that had stumbled through the door to their left instead of behind them and the other three men they'd been duelling to their right. The Chimaera however, was against the wall directly across from them.

Hermione's step faltered as ribbons of pain spread down her leg and up into her back. Her knee gave out and she nearly keeled over, but Harry's hands reached out and yanked her forward.

She tumbled over the desk just as an arrow, bright and colourful embedded itself in her forearm. She barely registered the impact; she was too busy gasping for air as the pain in her thigh burrowed _deeper_, separating new flesh. Numbly, she realized there was a steady trail of blood trickling down her leg, glittering dimly against the dark skin of the teenager she was pretending to be.

"Was it a curse or a weapon?" Harry yelled, frantically tearing open the leg of her blood stained pants.

"Curse," she whispered back through clenched teeth. She let out an agonized cry that turned into an anguished scream when the burrowing hit something new. Acute vibrations sent _shocking _waves of pain through her and the part of her brain that wasn't being driven mad by pain realized the curse had begun to slice into bone.

She hadn't even realized she'd passed out until her eyes shot open and she jolted forward gulping, gasping, _begging _for air.

Somewhere in the background Malfoy's voice shouted hoarsely as he continued to fire curse after curse at their attackers.

Absently, she realized the burrowing in her leg had stopped, the bright arrow in her forearm had been removed and the liquid she was coughing out wasn't blood but remnants of the potion Harry had forced down her throat. It was the potion Malfoy had brewed for them when they'd been back in London; a potent (and disgusting) blend of strengthening solution, numbing tonic and adrenaline they each carried for _exactly _this situation.

It wasn't enough to rid her of the pain that still sent shivers through her and had her snapping her teeth shut. Her body twitched with the force of it, the potion keeping her from unconsciousness and dulling the pain just enough that her brain began functioning a _little _better.

Harry, dirty, sweating and covered in blood – hers, his, she wasn't sure – crouched over her leg, alternating between sewing her wound shut with magic, dripping dittany into the open gash and firing random curses off over the desk.

"The Dittany will do it," she growled through clenched teeth, pushing his hands away weakly. They shared a brief glance, uncertainty in Harry's gaze, reassurance in Hermione's. "Go."

Something rocked the ground beneath them and shook the walls causing chunks of plaster to fall from the roof above them.

"YOU IDIOTS!" Malfoy roared slashing in the direction of Cervone's men. "ARE YOU STUPID OR JUST FUCKING CRAZY?"

It was what jumpstarted them both back into action. Harry turned just enough to send a wave of spells hurtling over the overturned desk and with a wobbly hand; Hermione lifted her wand to cover their left. She tried to crawl closer to the desk to help but her body was having none of it; the loss of blood and the sheer amount of _pain _making her arms and legs collapse under her weight.

Numbly, she realized she was lying in a pool of her own blood. It was so thick and there was so _much _of it Harry must have given her a blood-replenishing potion. There was no way one person could lose so much blood and still be conscious.

"They freed the Chimaera!" Malfoy bellowed, lunging to the right to avoid a section of collapsing roof.

Harry leapt lithely in front of her, moving forward into the dissipating smoke to fire at something she couldn't see. It took a mammoth effort but Hermione managed to aim her wand at the desk Harry used for cover, turning it into metal. The pain was still a constant presence in her mind though and the table turned to stone instead.

_Better than wood_, she thought grimly her jaw still clenched tightly shut. A high pile of rubble separated Malfoy from her and Harry but the end of the shelf he was using for cover from Cervone's men (and now the Chimaera) was just visible. There was just enough of it exposed that her spell could hit it but her concentration was so shot it turned not to metal or stone but marble.

It was while Harry was shooting curses at the door that a pair of legs appeared _out of nowhere_ to kick at his right arm. His wand flew from his hand and in the next second the legs curled and wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione shouted, horrified, just as the rest of the woman's body fell into view, coiling itself around Harry's. One of the woman's hands aimed a gun in Hermione's direction, the other pressed at Harry's neck, his body immediately convulsing and twitching, the unmistakable buzz of electricity rocketing through him.

The spell hit the woman just before the quick 'crack' of the bullet leaving her gun assaulted Hermione's ears. As one, Harry and the woman tumbled to the ground, the expression of shock and anger still twisting their features, even as they slipped into unconsciousness.

Hermione didn't feel the bullet. Not right away. The only thing that registered was the sudden quiet – no more shouting men, no more bellowed curses and no more tumultuous roars from the Chimaera. It was an observation that fled her when the dull ache in her shoulder finally gave way to _more_ pain. The heat of it slammed into her like a freight train; fresh and raw and _burning_.

There was a whistling sound to her right, barely audible over the sound of her own beating heart, her own ragged breathing.

"_Protego!_" Malfoy's disembodied voice grunted, deflecting a rod of metal and sending it flying off into the distance.

Her teeth chattered loudly, even louder than the whistling sound of the now _relentless _arrows flying in Malfoy's direction. Groaning, Hermione reached out her left arm – the arm that wasn't shot – and hauled herself into a sitting position against the wall.

Rubble rained down in a waterfall of destruction to her left as one of Malfoy's deflected arrows made contact with the wall.

"Where? Where are they coming from?" Hermione growled out through clenched teeth, her erratic gaze sweeping what little of the room she could see and finding nothing.

"How the hell should I know?!" Malfoy shouted, deflecting another arrow. It was as the arrow soared past her eye line that a man leapt over the shelf providing Malfoy's cover. He was too quick for her to even turn her wand in his direction let alone fire a spell at him.

"Malfoy!" Hermione gasped, the gunshot wound in her shoulder protesting because _of course _it was her wand arm that had been shot.

With all the courage Hermione could muster, she braced her left leg and arm against the floor, heaving herself up into a standing position, trying desperately to help. The still open wound in her right leg sent crippling waves of pain through her. She barely made it halfway up the wall before she collapsed to the floor once more, crying out, hating herself.

She couldn't see past the rubble, but the unmistakable sound of fist hitting flesh and the scrabble of boots reached her ears. Her fingers clenched tightly around her wand at the sound of Malfoy's grunting and tears of frustration rolled down her face.

She had never felt more useless in her life.

Her heart beat dully at the quieting scrabbles from the other side of the rubble. Hermione's breathing hitched and hope, desperate and useless burned brightly in her chest but Malfoy had always been useless at Muggle combat.

With bleary eyes, Hermione watched the horizon of the rubble carefully, her wand at the ready even as the pain in her shoulder hammered an electrifying rhythm into the back of her skull.

"Stu-" she shouted as a hulking form leapt over the rubble. He had the element of surprise though, a better angle and faster reflexes. His boot made contact with her wounded shoulder, sending her careering sideways. She hit the ground forcefully, his kick sending her eyes rolling back and ripping an agonized shout from her.

Her wand bounced uselessly away and a man clad in Kevlar and leather towered over her, a semi automatic pointed at her forehead.

"Don't make me shoot you, kid."


End file.
